Day Seventy-one, Rebuilding Home (Part Six)

Last night’s nightmare felt as real as if it had truly happened, deeply etched into my memory. Even now, upon waking, the images remain vivid in my mind. The dream was so lifelike that after waking last night, I found it hard to fall asleep again.

I only managed to doze off as the sky began to lighten in the east, and now it’s nearly midday. Lately, I’ve found myself gripped by a newfound fear of the night. Is it because of what happened with Little Black last time? Or has some deep-seated timidity within me been awakened? I can’t say for sure.

On the bright side, today is another sunlit day. I moved the rice and grains outside to dry. A few bags of flour had become damp and hardened into clumps, but they still need to be dried. Taking advantage of the free time today, I decided to make some pancakes from the flour to extend their shelf life.

For some reason, the thought of egg pancakes suddenly popped into my head—perhaps it was hunger. The idea intrigued me. There were still plenty of turtle eggs left; maybe I could crack a few into the batter. Of course, any pancakes made with turtle eggs would have to be eaten immediately. Unlike the corn pancakes I made before, which couldn’t have turtle eggs added or they’d spoil quickly since turtle eggs don’t solidify easily.

After what happened yesterday, I’ve become more cautious about my safety. I resolved that when I lay the floor for the lower level of the treehouse, I must first build a surrounding wall. Having a fence would naturally boost my sense of security.

But for now, my first priority was to satisfy my hunger, then head down to the creek to collect some river stones. These stones could be set into the gaps between larger rocks, and once the entire floor of the treehouse’s lower level was covered, it would be both clean and level.

It was already lunchtime, and since I hadn’t had breakfast, a few fruits weren’t enough to fill me. Hunger gnawed at me as I considered what to eat. In the end, I made corn pancakes, adding a few turtle eggs. It was probably the first time I’d done so, and I felt a bit uncertain—what if it didn’t taste good? That would be a waste.

Still, I went ahead. Three scoops of cornmeal blended with one and a half scoops of flour, breaking up all the lumps. Then I cracked in three turtle eggs and stirred quickly. Once the eggs were almost fully incorporated into the flour, I began adding water little by little, stirring rapidly after each addition until the whole mixture became a yellowish batter. Finally, I sprinkled in some salt crystals and stirred until fully dissolved. Only then was the preparation complete.

On this island, my greatest pleasure seemed to be making something I loved to eat. Back in civilized society, I regretted not learning more about survival skills, but as a foodie, at least I could put my passion to good use here.

Years ago, when I was trying to win over a girlfriend, my love for food and cooking was what earned her favor—through countless dishes I taught myself to make. Thinking back, I stopped pursuing the relationship because all that remained afterward was pain.

The pan was lightly oiled, and the batter was ready to be poured in. As soon as the batter hit the hot pan, it sizzled and bubbled. This was a race against time. I had to spread the batter quickly with the back of a spoon before the bottom set too thickly, or the pancake would become dense and unpleasant.

Once spread out, I watched carefully, keeping the pan just far enough from the fire to avoid burning. After about twenty seconds, I flipped the corn pancake and began flipping more frequently over the next few minutes until it was fully cooked.

The idea of egg pancakes was absolutely right. The original corn pancakes were a bit dry but filling. Two pancakes with water would stave off hunger. Today’s version, however, was different thanks to the turtle eggs. The pancakes were less dry, and biting into one released a slight juice infused with a rich egg aroma—an unexpected but delightful surprise brought by the turtle eggs.

Of course, Little Black couldn’t miss out on this treat. I hadn’t wanted to mention him, but the funny thing is, he probably thought I was secretly cooking for myself. So, to my surprise, he silently stole all five pancakes I had made and left sitting on the table behind me.

I only realized they were gone when I was halfway through making the sixth. Without a doubt, it was Little Black. He was lounging under the swing, leisurely munching, not even sparing me a glance.

“You greedy little thing!” I scolded, shooting him a helpless glare. He must have noticed, as he wagged his tail a few times, perhaps feeling guilty, then quietly glanced up at me.

I ate three pancakes myself. Being thin, they filled me about a quarter, which along with a glass of water was enough. I didn’t want to overeat because I had to go collect river stones soon. Eating too much would make me drowsy and weak, just wanting to sleep.

…

I noticed the creek’s water level had dropped considerably again—now only as deep as my ankle. When I have time, I plan to explore the creek’s end.

There were plenty of river stones here, varying in size. Using the plastic basket to carry stones wasn’t very convenient as they tended to spill out. So I brought two handwoven vine baskets. At this size, a dozen or so trips should suffice.

Picking up stones needed no special skill; I just gathered whatever was convenient. On my way back, I did something foolish. To make the load easier, I cut a branch to use as a carrying pole, hoping to balance the two baskets.

But it backfired. The baskets, which had been steady in my hands, tipped over, spilling the stones everywhere. It wasn’t intentional—I’d seen people on TV use carrying poles to ease their burden, and figured I could do the same. After all, it wasn’t that much weight.

The result, as mentioned, was painful. I squatted down, placed the pole on my shoulder, and took a few steps before my shoulder throbbed unbearably. Even with my hands trying to support the pole, the pain was too much. My shoulder was too weak.

Losing my balance, I staggered, and the two baskets’ stones tumbled to the ground.

As I bent down to gather the stones, the sudden crunch of dry leaves behind me made me freeze.

“Who’s there?” I sprang up and turned around, one hand instinctively pressing against the gun tucked at my waist…